


A Rose For You

by bombingking



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 03:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10890852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bombingking/pseuds/bombingking
Summary: Instead of any of his books being stolen, like he thought there would be, there was a yellow rose rested atop all his other belongings. Attached to the rose was a note. He picked up the rose and read the note attached. It was typed out, so he wouldn’t be able to recognize handwriting.Roses are redViolets are blueBut this rose is yellowSo what the fuck?





	A Rose For You

“You know, you’re being really uptight for, like, absolutely no reason, right?”

“I am not being uptight, Mabel.”

Mabel leaned on the locker next to her brother’s and rolled her eyes. “You are  _ totally  _ being uptight,” she insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m just saying, you're not in control of who I date or not. And why would I want to take your advice in the first place? You’re the only guy in this school who’s never gone out with  _ anyone.” _

Dipper gave her an odd look as he put in the combination to unlock his locker. He pulled on the lock once, twice, a third time. When it didn't budge, he angrily slammed on his locker, as if that would help with anything.

He reset the lock and started to put his combination in again. “This thing always jams,” he complained. “And that’s not true. I went out with Pacifica, remember?”  _ Worst decision I ever made,  _ he added on in his thoughts,  _ but I did it. _

“Yeah. For, like, five minutes.” Mabel stuck out her tongue at him. “What do you even have against Tad, anyway? He’s not even a bad guy.”

“He isn’t,” Dipper agreed, tugging on his lock. This time it came undone and he rejoiced as he opened his locker. Stuffing his geology textbook inside, he continued, “It’s… He’s a little...weird, don't you think? I mean, he acts like it’s the seventies.”

“So what?” Mabel pushed away from the locker she was leaning against and made a little boogy-ing motion with her hips. “The seventies were pretty lit.”

“The eighteen seventies.”

Mabel deflated. “Fair enough,” she said. She was quick to perk herself back up, though, pressing the palms of her hands together and smiling. “That’s what makes him so great! It’s kinda hot, really.”

Dipper gagged and shut his locker, not bothering to lock it back up on the account he didn't want to fight with it at the end of the day. It wasn't like he had anything in there that was valuable enough to steal. Expect all his textbooks. But why would anyone want to steal those?

Adjusting the books he was holding in on arm, Dipper began to walk down the hall. Mabel followed after him. “Know what?” she asked once she caught up to him. “I think I know why you're so upset about this.”

“Because you go out with new guy every two days and cry when they put you down?”

_ “No,”  _ Mabel groaned. “It’s  _ because  _ you’re jealous.”

Dipper snorted. “What is there for me to be jealous of?”

“Well, you’re sad and alone and you want to go out with someone, but you're too much of a wuss to actually communicate with anyone like a normal person.” Mabel shrugged. “I’ll have you know that talking is actually quite simple. All you have to do is open your mouth and makes words. Then the person you're talking to opens  _ their  _ mouth and makes words. When people do that, it’s called a  _ conversation.” _

“I know what a conversation is, Mabel. And I know how to talk to people.” Dipper stepped aside so a group of girls coming down the hall from the opposite direction could pass. They did, but not without each waving at Mabel. She waved back at them and smiled, causing Dipper to roll his eyes. “I just choose not to.”

“Because you’re a wuss.”

“No, not because I’m a wuss.” Dipper sighed. “Whatever. When are you guys supposed to be going on your date, anyway?”

“Tonight. We’re leaving in his car when school is over. Speaking of which”—his sister pressed a finger to her lips and hummed—“I guess this is the last time I'm going to get to talk to you until tonight. Bummer, too, considering I’m the only person you can communicate with.”

Dipper opened his mouth to reply to that, but was cut off by the bell. He mentally cursed. They were both late for class. He couldn't believe he’d allowed himself to get so distracted.

“Anyway,” Mabel said, pulling her twin into a quick hug, “I’ll be back around eight. Tell Mom and Dad not to worry. It’s literally just dinner at a pizza place. Okay, see ya!” Without waiting for a response, she ran off in the other direction, where the group of girls had gone.

Dipper stared after a minute before shaking his head, coming back to his senses, and began to rush to his own class.

When he got there, he looked in through the window on the door. Class was already in session. But of course it was. He was  _ late. _

Was this how kids who were late to class felt?

He thought about Mabel.

_ Probably not,  _ he figured.

He knocked on the door with his free hand, having to wait a second or two until someone actually bothered to get up from their seat to answer it for him.

“Hey, I thought you were usually the  _ first  _ one to class, not the last.”

Dipper shifted the books in his arm. “Not today, Bill,” he muttered, and stormed into the classroom, fuming.

The one who had answered the door—Bill, much to Dipper’s silent horror—simply shrugged and returned to his seat. Dipper was going to go to his own, but was stopped just short of heading down the row when the teacher called him over.

“Do you have a pass?” she asked him, keeping her voice low so the other students wouldn't be able to listen in.

Dipper shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, not sure of what else he  _ could  _ say. “I promise it won't happen again.”

The teacher looked at him curiously. “You're never late,” she said. “Did something happen?"

“I’m fine.”

“Well, then, in that case...you know I'm going to have to write you up for this, right?”

_ Sadly.  _ Dipper nodded; and, when she finally let him go to his seat, he slumped down in his seat and practically slammed his books onto his desk. The teacher ignored, luckily, and continued on with the lesson as if nothing had happened.

A few minutes passed. Dipper was writing down notes for the test later that week when a folded piece of paper was being placed down on the corner of his desk. Curious, he picked it up and unfolded it. There was a note written in spiky print.

_ Hey, you look like someone just murdered your family, burned down your house, and took all your money. Case in point: angry isn't a good look on you. _

_ —B.C. _

Dipper turned in his seat and faced the back of the classroom, where the writer of the note was tapping his pencil against the surface of his desk. When they made eye contact, said note writer grinned.

Dipper groaned and crumpled up the note. He would throw it out at the end of class.

Bill was extremely annoying.

Another few minutes passed. Dipper had his textbook out, taking notes out of that when an announcement came over the PA system, shocking him so much he nearly jumped.

“All art club students report to room 211B at this time. A meeting is taking place. I repeat, all Art Club students…” Dipper kind of started paying attention at the last part, but he got the message. He turned in his seat a second time, just in time to see Bill (and a few other kids that were in Art Club, too) stand up. They all headed up to the teacher to get their hall passes, and Dipper could have  _ sworn  _ Bill winked at him as he walked by his seat.

Dipper squeezed his pencil so tight it almost snapped in half. The  _ audacity. _

But then he was letting out a deep breath, trying to calm down, willing himself to pay attention to what he had been writing down. The teacher continued the lesson once all the art kids were gone and, honestly, Dipper quite appreciated the noise that had left with them.

The rest of the class went by smoothly, as did the rest of the school day (though he didn’t see Bill at lunch like he usually did, which was weird, because they shared the same lunch period and Bill usually sat at a few tables away from him with the popular kids). The other kids at Bill’s usual table chatted as if he had never been there in the first place.

Dipper looked back down at the book he had been reading. Whatever. It wasn’t like he actually  _ cared  _ or anything.

Before he knew it, it was the end of the class and the final bell had rung. He rose from his seat and quickly shuffled out of the classroom, heading to his assigned locker at record speed.

But, the moment he headed down the corridor, he could feel that something was wrong. This feeling persisted, even as he opened his locker—which he had left  _ unlocked,  _ what was wrong with him?—horror flooding his entire body. He slowly opened his locker.

Instead of any of his books being stolen, like he thought there would be, there was a yellow rose rested atop all his other belongings. Attached to the rose was a note. He picked up the rose and read the note attached. It was typed out, so he wouldn’t be able to recognize handwriting.

_ Roses are red _

_ Violets are blue _

_ But this rose is yellow _

_ So what the fuck? _

Dipper could only stare, dumbfounded, for a moment. There was no signature. Obviously the person who had left this here didn’t want to be found out. But  _ why?  _ Was this supposed to be some kind of sick joke? Or was someone trying to actually  _ flirt  _ with him?

He didn’t know, but he tucked the rose and the note safely in his backpack. He decided he would ask Mabel about it when she got home from her date. She was better at this kind of thing than he was.

* * *

 

Dipper placed the rose on his dresser once he got home, then sat down on his bed and idly read a book, waiting until Mabel got home so he could talk to her about... _ this.  _ But, as time passed by, agonizingly slow and painful, he realized that he actually hadn’t been reading his book at all. Rather, he’d been staring at the same paragraph for about an hour, not going anywhere.

So, sighing, he put the book down and turned on the TV. Time seemed to pass a little faster, and he was sure at one point his mother had walked into his room to tell him to eat his dinner before it got cold. He waved a hand dismissively and said he was fine. He didn’t like microwave food, but it would have to do for today. He felt as if, if he ate, he would just wind up throwing it up.

Sometime later, he could hear the front door opening and closing from downstairs. Practically leaping from his bed, he opened the curtain on his room’s window. He saw a car pulling out of the driveway. Mabel was home.

Mabel was saying hi to their parents when he confronted her, tugging on her arms despite her protests and taking her to the base of the stairs so he could tell her about what he’d seen in his locker. Mabel was glowing by the end of his story, her hands clasped together over her face to hide her smile.

“Oh—my—God,” she said, punctuating each word for emphasis. “Dipper, methinks you have a  _ secret admirer.” _

Dipper gave her a puzzled look. “Mabel, are you crazy? Did I not tell you about the note?”

“I mean…” Mabel trailed off. “I guess it’s romantic in a...insane kind of way. That’s  _ good,  _ though.” Now it was her turn to grab  _ Dipper’s  _ arm, practically gushing. “It means that whoever’s into you is, like, super unique. Dude, we should try to find out who left this for you.”

Dipper pulled out of her grasp. “Well, that sounds hard,” he said, “considering I left my locker open today. It could literally be  _ anyone  _ in our school. After all, there are only, like, nine hundred students,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

“Eh.” Mabel shrugged. “Let’s eliminate everyone that’s normal. That leaves only four hundred and fifty other students for us to investigate. Even less, because yellow isn’t exactly a fan favorite color. Two hundred options at best. Two hundred people that could  _ possibly  _ be into you, Dipper!” she said. She laughed and wrapped her arms around her brother, forcibly giving him an infamous Mabel Strangle. “Aren’t you  _ happy?” _

“Sure,” Dipper said, vying for breath. He didn’t want to tell her how didn’t really care that someone was into him, on the account she seemed super excited about this and he didn’t want to ruin it for her.

* * *

 

In school the next day, at lunch, Bill sat down at his table.

It wasn’t even the fact that he did it that made Dipper angry. It was the  _ way  _ that he had done it that made Dipper angry. He simply...dumped his tray down on the table and sat down in the seat next to Dipper. For the most part, Dipper ignored him, glaring down at his book and attempting (failing) at understanding the sentence he was staring at.

Then Bill leaned in close, looking over his shoulder to see the book better. His warm breath was practically brushing against Dipper’s cheek when he asked, “What are you reading there?”

Dipper pushed his chair back so hard and so fast that it screeched as its legs scraped the ground. The sound was so loud that anyone within their half of the cafeteria heard. His face burned as he picked up his chair and moved it back to the table, making sure to put it at some distance away from Bill. It was a fruitless effort, as Bill had moved over to fill in the space.

Dipper slammed his book down onto the table. “Don’t you have anything better to be doing?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“What about your friends?” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Bill’s usual lunch table.

“Those guys are frickin’ lame,” Bill replied offhandedly, peeling his eyes away from Dipper’s to start picking at his mac and cheese. Dipper was tempted to tell Bill what it was made of, but resisted because just the thought made him want to vomit. “All they talk about their boyfriends and girlfriends, what they’re going to buy at the mall this weekend, blah blah blah. Guess how many fucks I give.”

Dipper sighed. “Zero?” he guessed.

“Zero,” Bill confirmed, shoving a forkful of mac and (quote unquote) ‘cheese’ in his mouth. He continued speaking with the food in his mouth. “It’s much nicer here. It’s so...quiet. And lonely.” Dipper rolled his eyes. “Seriously. You’re the only one here. That’s depressing, man. I would cry if I was capable.” With a smirk, he shoved a straw in his carton of chocolate milk and took a long sip. Dipper still had no idea what he was doing here.

“Listen,” Dipper managed, “I don’t like you, you don’t like me…” He gestured between them. “Why are you here?”

“Who said I don’t like you?” Bill raised his brows and wiped his hands using a napkin. “Honestly, you’re a riot. How would you be able to determine whether or not you like someone if you don’t even know them. That practice, my friend, is what us down in the industry call  _ judging a book by its cover.”  _ As he said the last part, he tapped Dipper’s book for emphasis. “I’m sure you would know  _ all  _ about that.”

Rubbing his temples, Dipper tried to process what it was that Bill was telling him. Was he saying that he...wanted to be friends? That was weird. What could Bill possibly have to gain from being friends with him, because  _ obviously  _ there had to be some motive involved here—

“Oh, there is not motive,” Bill said, and Dipper blushed because he’d said that last part  _ out loud, oh God.  _ “That’s the best part. I’ll be your friend for absolutely free. You should be honored I’m giving you such a kind offer.”

“I think I’m going to have to pass up on that offer,” Dipper said. He picked up his book again and opened up to the page he’d been on.

Bill frowned, then shrugged. “What a shame,” he said. Thankfully, the next thing he did was stand up, taking his tray with him as he turned to leave. But, when he was a few steps away, he turned back and said, “You know, you’re free to change your mind whenever you want. I’ll be here,” then he was gone.

_ Whatever,  _ Dipper thought, leaning his face on one hand and pressing on with his reading.  _ Hopefully he never comes back.  _ He enjoyed being by himself. Probably.

* * *

 

Again, the day went by normally. Up until the point when he went up to his locker. It was locked when he got there—he’d made sure to lock it up because he learned his lesson from the day before—but when he opened it there was another rose sitting atop his books.

It was mocking him.

As he unfolded the note and began to read it, something dawned upon him; whoever was leaving these roses knew the combination to his locker.  _ Damn it, damn it, damn it. _

He folded the paper back up at the sound of feet slapping the ground, growing louder, which meant that someone was approaching him. He was trying to fit the rose in his backpack when suddenly Mabel was on him like a mouse to its cheese. Her eyes were wide with joy and she was practically shaking with excitement.

“Two roses in two days?” she asked, whistling. “Wow, that’s what I call dedication.”

Dipper tried to force a smile, but, by the way Mabel’s happiness seemed to wash away as fast as it had come, he could tell it came out as more of a grimace. “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Mabel, whoever’s leaving these roses obviously knows the combination to my locker, and—” He stopped himself mid sentence, his mind overworking itself as he tried to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. “Wait,” he said, when finally he reached a conclusion he deemed logical.

It made sense. How the person leaving these roses knew his locker combination, how the letters were typed out instead of handwritten because the person writing the poem didn’t want him to recognize their handwriting, how it was after the art club students had gotten called down before the rose was placed in…

It would have been the perfect opportunity for someone—maybe a certain  _ someone  _ trying to play a practical joke on him after teasing him  _ that exact same day  _ about not going out with anyone—to slip the rose and the poem in.

It was a perfect plan. Well,  _ almost  _ perfect, considering said person who was playing the practical joke on him was making it much more obvious than they (she) thought they were.

“Mabel,” Dipper said at last, clenching his fist tight around the stem of the rose, “this isn’t funny. Did you seriously think I wouldn’t find out?”

Mabel’s face twisted, her expression now reading confusion in its purest form. “What’s not funny?” she asked, but Dipper wasn’t buying it.

“The rose from yesterday,” Dipper said, groaning, “and the rose I found just now.  _ You’re  _ the one who’s leaving them here, aren’t you. Because  _ who else  _ would know about my locker combination, not to mention yesterday when the art club was…” He trailed off when Mabel raised a hand.

“As great as an idea as that might have been,” she said, her voice impatient, “I’m not the one who left these roses in your locker. And how could you accuse me of doing something like that to you?” she asked, lowering her hand so she could place it on her hip. “What kind of monster do you take me for? I’m only trying to help you.”

Dipper stared at her for a long time, reading her face for the smallest detection of a lie; but, try as he might, he wasn’t able to find one. He sighed out and lifted the rose, unfolding the paper attached to it a second time so he could read whatever the heck was written on it.

_ There’s nothing I could ever say _

_ And nothing I could do _

_ Except maybe tell you that _

_ You have a pretty nice ass _

Dipper practically shrieked as he detached the poem from the rose and threw the paper, watching it flutter downwards until it finally hit the ground. He could feel his face burning.

Okay, he knew Mabel was a jokester. But he also knew her well enough to get that she would never, ever go so far as to talk about his  _ butt. _

“Maybe you aren’t the one leaving these roses,” he said at last. Mabel leaned down so she could pick up the paper and read the poem on it. “You’re not going to like that,” he warned her. However, it was too late. She was already reading it.

A second later, she lowered the paper. Her lips were twitching, like she was trying to hold back a smile or a laugh. Or both. She didn’t say anything, and Dipper took it as a cue to put the rose in his backpack and put his stuff away so they could just drive home already.

“You have to admit, though,” Mabel said as they were walking back to their shared car, a blissful smile on her face, “someone cares enough to stare at your ass.” Her brother didn’t reply, and as he started up the car and put it in reverse to back out of the school’s parking lot, she added, “You’re mad about this, aren’t you?”

Dipper squeezed the steering wheel a little tighter.

* * *

 

The rest of the school week and then another full week passed with the same events. Dipper would have a normal day at school, and then, at the end of the day when he would go to his locker, there would be a yellow rose and some kind of twisted poem. In frustration, he would shove the rose in his backpack and throw the poem in the trash.

When he got home, he would put the yellow rose on his bedside dresser with the other ones; and, to say the least, he could start a garden with these.

Due to a conversation he had with Mabel after school on a Friday, he decided to go online to find out what they meant. Mabel sat down on the bed in his room as he plopped down in his computer chair and looked up yellow roses on Google. A lot of results came up, but he chose to click the first link in order to keep it simple. He’d go more into it later.

He let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. “Yellow roses symbolize friendship,” he told his sister without looking up. He almost felt like punching the screen, a wave of disappointment washing over him. He didn’t understand why. “Platonic love.” His hand near the mouse reflexively clenched into a fist, unclenched, repeated.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Mabel said, getting up and walking over to him so she could read what was on the screen. “Why would that person write you poems like...yeah...if yellow roses are only supposed to mean friendship? What kinda message are they trying to send across?”

Dipper turned off the monitor and shrugged, slumping down in his seat. “I have no idea, but I’d still like to find out who it is that’s giving me them,” he said, running a hand through his messy curls. “Maybe I could tell them that breaking into other people’s lockers is considered, like, not nice?”

“There’s something off about all of this,” Mabel agreed. “We have to start to narrow down our options, or else we’ll never find out who it is.”

“I think it’s someone in the Art Club,” Dipper told her. “I mean, it was after the announcement that called them all down to the room, and after class when I found the rose in my locker for the first time.” Mabel nodded as he spoke, catching unto his train of thought. “Could you write down a list of the kids for me? We’re gonna have to figure this out.”

Mabel smiled. “Sure thing, Cap’n. I’ll get it done when we go back to school on Monday.” She stood up and threw one arm in the air in a heroic manner, pointing to the sky. Her other hand rested on her hip. “The Mystery of the Dirty Poem and Rose Leaving Rude Person...or something.”

* * *

 

Mabel slipped him the list of people while he was walking down the hall to his next class, giving him a curt nod and continuing on as if nothing had happened. He folded the paper carefully and put it in the pocket of his jeans.

It wasn’t until he got to lunch when he unfolded the paper, placing it on his table in a grand fashion, that he began to study the names; but, before he could do that, he had to shield his eyes from the bright, sparkly title that was hurting his retinas.

**_Mabel’s Super Awesome List of People in My Art Club, Yo_ **

**_(I’m sorry this title is so bad)_ **

Dipper rubbed his eyes and waited until the burning stopped to rake his eyes down the list. The first name that caught his eye was a familiar one:

_ Pacifica Northwest (By the way, I have no idea why you stopped dating her. She’s mad cute.) _

Dipper ignored the side note and circled the name. Considering they had gone out that One Time, she could be a very likely candidate. Maybe the yellow roses symbolized her just wanting to be friends?

Quickly, he crossed out her name.  _ No, no. Remember the poems.  _ Pacifica Northwest wasn’t one to write things...like that.

He would have continued looking down if it wasn’t for the bell ringing. Lunch period was over.

How long had that title been bothering his eyes for?

Folding up the paper again, he got up and left for his next class.

* * *

 

After lunch, when Dipper was walking to his locker, he noticed someone standing by his locker. As he approached, he realized he couldn’t make out any recognizable features. Whomever it was, though, she was definitely a girl. She had bright pink hair and her back was turned to him.

She must have noticed him coming closer, though, because she swiveled around and her icy blue eyes met Dipper’s brown ones.

She was holding a yellow rose.

Was  _ this  _ the person that had been leaving him the roses? His mind went into overdrive, his heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest. He felt as if he were going to pass out.

She opened her mouth to speak. Oh, God, probably to introduce herself, saying something along the lines of how the first time she passed by Dipper in the hall she couldn’t help but take in his eyes, the way his lips curled into a smile—

She handed him the rose and said, “I was told to put this in your locker. But it’s locked, and I don’t know the combination. Sorry.” Then she was pressing the rose into Dipper’s hand and walking away before he could even think of what  _ he  _ should say to  _ her. _

He read the poem attached to the rose and let out a sigh. He didn’t know the girl, but she hadn’t looked like she was lying. And she didn’t seem the kind of person to leave something like  _ this  _ in his locker.

_ Is it too late to _

_ Ask you out for “dinner,” _

_ If you know what I mean. ;) _

* * *

 

Geometry was terrible.

Bill felt the need to bother Dipper, throwing wads of paper at the back of his head in an attempt to get his attention. Dipper seethed internally but managed to ignore it nonetheless. He wrote his notes down so hard that the tip of his pencil broke, and he used his handheld pencil sharpener to revive it.

It was when he was doing this that a note was placed on his desk, like one had been on the day the whole yellow rose predicament had started. Already knowing who had passed it up, he took the paper and was met with familiar, spiky writing.

_ To be honest, if I lost my virginity the way Squidward Tentacles plays his clarinet, then I would be a virgin for the rest of my life. _

_ Did that make you laugh? I hope it made you laugh. _

_ —B.C. _

Without bothering to acknowledge the existence of the sender, Dipper crumbled up the paper and stood up so he could walk across the room and toss it out. He sat back down in his seat and looked back down at his notes, acting as if none of it even happened.

But, he realized with a grimace, he wasn’t writing notes at all. And, when he looked up at the clock to check the time, class hadn’t even started yet. The late bell would be ringing in a few seconds.

He glanced at what he had been writing.

_ Fuck Bill, fuck Bill, fuck Bill, fuck Bill _ — He crossed it out. Then, when he wasn’t satisfied that it was gone from his life, he scribbled over it in his black pen until the ink started to run dry. Groaning, he clicked his pen so the point disappeared and put it in his pencil case.

_ Where’s the teacher?  _ he asked himself, just now noticing that the teacher wasn’t there and the class was. The late bell rung, snapping him out of his thoughts long enough to begin to listening to the other students sitting around him.

“Do you think she’s out today?”

“Yo, since ol’ Teach isn’t coming, do you think we should have a classroom party or somethin’?”

Dipper rolled his eyes. There was likely a substitute on the way if that were the case. They probably got lost on the way.

He was about to turn around and say that out loud, ready to ruin the atmosphere the others had going but not caring in the least, when he noticed movement—and then the seat next to him that had been empty (the girl that sat there was absent, he figured) was  _ not  _ empty anymore. Though he felt empty seeing who was sitting there now.

Bill hummed happily and leaned over, looking over at Dipper’s notebook to see what he had been writing. Fortunately for Dipper, he had erased what he’d been writing before, so he didn’t have to face  _ that  _ humiliation today.

However, his eyes soon trailed over to the list Mabel had made for him, and Dipper’s world came crashing down all over again. It was sticking out from between two pages in his notebook and he moved to hide it, but Bill beat him to it; he swiped the paper away, despite Dipper’s protests, and began to read over it.

“Hey, that’s  _ mine,”  _ Dipper said, trying to reach over. Bill held up his arm high in the air where he couldn’t reach, grinning. “You can’t just take my—what is  _ wrong  _ with you?”

“What’s this for?” Bill asked, lowering his arm; but only so he could continue to read down the list. His grin faltered, but for a second before it returned full-force. “Heh. Didn’t Pacifica used to go out with you?  _ She’s  _ the name your crossed off, right?”

Dipper felt his face burning, even if he didn’t know why. His hands clenched into fists. “That’s none of your business,” he said in his most serious voice. Which wasn’t much, considering it had come out as a squeak more than anything.

Half the class was staring at them. Great.

"Seriously, though, what’s the list for?” Bill grabbed the paper in a way, a silent threat that he was going to rip it, and Dipper couldn’t possibly be any angrier. Or more embarrassed. The entire class was staring at them. “What’s so interesting about the art club, anyway? I heard that some pretty  _ cool  _ people are in the art club, you know.”

Dipper glared daggers at him. “Bill, if you rip that paper, I swear to God I’m going to—”

“What? Rip it?” Bill began to pull at the edges. “Like this?”

Then, before Dipper’s mind could even manage to process what was happening, the paper was in little pieces and scattered all over the desk Bill was sitting at. And Bill was gathering the little pieces in his hands and throwing them in the air as if they were bits of confetti, causing the class to break out into an uproar. Their cheering was the single thing Dipper could hear for a few seconds.

The next thing he knew, there were tears stinging his eyes and  _ God, he didn’t want people to see him like this,  _ so he pushed out of his seat, rubbing his eyes, and rushed out of the room. Right past the substitute teacher, who had just arrived and was yelling at the class to calm down.

He spent the next fifteen minutes bawling his eyes out in the boy’s bathroom, wondering  _ why  _ people felt the need to be so mean to him.

He didn’t leave until someone else had entered the bathroom. The guy gave him a weird look as he slipped past him out into the hall, but didn’t otherwise say anything or question why his eyes were red. Dipper was glad, because he didn’t have the energy in himself to explain, anyway.

As he headed back to the classroom, he stopped in his tracks. The logical part of him seemed to shut down in that instant, causing him to turn on his heels and head in the opposite direction. He headed to the other side of the school, where the locker bay—and, most importantly, his locker—was located.

His locker was locked when he got there, but he knew what to expect before he even grabbed the lock to put his combination in.

Sure enough, when he opened it, there was a yellow rose sitting there. In the exact same place where all those other yellow roses had been for the past few weeks. As he reached over to rip the piece of paper that was attached to it, he briefly wondered why he even still  _ had  _ the other roses. They meant absolutely nothing to him.

Right?

_ How do I express _

_ How I feel _

_ In regards to the fact _

_ That you haven’t found me out yet? _

_ *Honestly. You’re kind of an idiot. _

For the next few seconds, Dipper saw the color red.

_ How the hell do you expect me to know who you are? _ he asked no one in particular, burying his face in his hands.

Screw it. If the culprit was someone in the art club, then he was going to ask Mabel about it.

Though he felt he already knew who it was. Heck, maybe he’d had an idea all along.

The culprit  _ was  _ making it pretty obvious, after all.

* * *

 

Dipper had to stay after school for philosophy club that day, and every second being there made him more and more itching to get home. One foot tapped on the ground impatiently as he leaned his face in a hand and half-heartedly and listened to the ramblings of the nerdy girl sitting next him, going on and on about how certain lines in old writings may be foreshadowing the eventual end of the world.

When he got home, he immediately rushed up to Mabel’s room. The door was slightly ajar, but, seeing as she might have being doing something  _ girly  _ in there, he settled on knocking and asking her if she wasn’t busy.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she replied. There was the rustling of paper. Then, “Come in, what’re you waiting for?”

Dipper slowly opened the door the rest of the way. Mabel grinned up at him, lifting her gaze from the large poster paper that was strewn out across her room’s floor. Someone else was sitting down on the ground next to her, grinning at him equally as wide, if not wider.

A small part of Dipper died.

“What is  _ he  _ doing here?” he practically shouted, before remembering that his parents were downstairs. He lowered his voice to more of a whisper-shout as he added, “Bill, what are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Working on a poster for the math wing,” Bill replied matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders in a casual manner. “You know, actually doing  _ meaningful  _ things with my time instead of talking about, say, the mystery of the universe or whatever.” He raised a brow knowingly.

Dipper blushed. He looked at Mabel. “How much did you tell him about me?” he hissed.

Mabel mirrored Bill’s shrug. “He asked me a few questions about you, and I answered them,” she replied. “Don’t worry, though. I didn’t tell him anything super personal.” She picked up a marker from off the floor and began to scribble aimlessly at a letter on the poster. Dipper thought it was a lowercase a, but he was too blinded by his rage to really care in that moment.

“Mabel,” he ground out, “did you  _ know  _ that Bill’s the one who’s been leaving me those roses?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

_ “Mabel.” _

“Okay, okay.” Mabel held up her hands in mock surrender. “I  _ might  _ have been the one that told him your locker combination after that first day, because he told me he was planning to do it until you figured it out,” she admitted. “Honestly, it’s sorta your fault for taking so long,  _ but”— _ she fixed her gaze on Bill—“I didn’t expect him to make the poems quite so  _ explicit.” _

Bill laughed. “You suggested that I go all out, so I did. I see no wrong in what I did.”

“You told me that I have a nice  _ ass,”  _ Dipper reminded him.

“I’m not going to  _ not _ be honest with you. Besides, you really  _ do  _ have a nice ass. You should join the soccer team or wear shorts or something. Your ass would look fine in shorts.”

Dipper groaned and ran his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe you would work against me like this, Mabel. I told you that I—”

“Oh, come on,” Mabel said, frowning. She put down the marker and crossed her arms over her chest. “Bill likes you, and he asked me what would be the best way to let you know. Since I understand you wouldn’t have liked him straight-out going up to you and saying it, I decided it would be best to make a little game out of it. No harm done.”

Dipper was steaming. Of  _ course  _ there was harm done. He was  _ humiliated.  _ He couldn’t believe his  _ twin sister  _ would go behind his back for something like this...not to mention the stunt Bill had pulled during class…

He was going to be the laughing stock of the school, wasn’t he?

...Although, that was implying that he already wasn’t. Which he probably was.

He noticed that Bill was still staring at him and glared; but Bill didn’t seem to be able to take the hint, because he returned that with a grin. Mabel watched the transaction and chuckled.

“Should I, like, leave you two alone?” she asked. Then she paused, considering the question. “Never mind, this is  _ my  _ room. You two can go hang out in Dipper’s room and talk or something.” Bill got to his feet, and she added, “Don’t take too long. I need your help and there’s no way in hell I’m making this entire poster by myself.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bill replied, a little too quickly, his grin morphing into something...calmer. Like a smile. A real, genuine smile. Dipper’s stomach did a few flips at the sight.

Dipper pushed it aside, though, and ushered Bill down the hall to his own room. Bill was right behind him the entire time, making him feel way too self-conscious.

Once they were in his room, Bill walked inside and he entered after him, closing the door and turning on the light. He frowned when he saw Bill was  _ still  _ smiling at him.

“Seriously,” he said. “Why are you here?”

Bill shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket. “The art club’s workin’ on a huge poster for the math wing. You know, what I told you not five minutes ago. Do you even pay attention?”

“Yeah, I know that’s what you said,” Dipper replied, eying him suspiciously, “but I don’t believe it. That’s not the  _ only  _ reason why you came over, is it?” Bill turned around, walking over to Dipper’s bedside dresser and beginning to toy with a few of his items. “I asked you a question. And that’s  _ my  _ stuff. Leave it alone.” Dipper rushed up to him and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

_ “Maybe  _ I wanted to be able to see you,” Bill said, slowly. He blinked. “You don’t look too happy to see me, however. Why is that? Especially after I got you all those roses. It cost quite a few bucks, for your information.” His gaze landed upon the pile Dipper had lying near a few collectibles, grinning. “Hey, you kept them.”

Dipper felt his face heat up and looked away from him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, whatever. It’s not like they even mean anything to me.” He lowered his voice. “It’s just that...no one’s ever really  _ gotten  _ me roses before, so…” He shook his head. “Never mind, it’s none of your business, anyway.”

“I’m surprised,” Bill said after a moment, grabbing his attention. Hands still in his pockets, he leaned over and began to get a closer look at the roses. “You should put these in water, by the way. Some of them are dead already,” he said sadly, noting some of the shriveled ones. “That’s to be expected, I guess. They don’t last long.”

“Wait, surprised? Surprised at what?”

Bill’s eyes met Dipper’s then, and Dipper felt his organs shift a little. “Surprised that no one has ever gotten you roses before. I mean, with a face like yours I’m shocked that your locker isn’t flooded with roses. And chocolates. And lovely poems.”

“Sure. Right.” Dipper rolled his eyes, trying to act casual in all of this, but it was hard—with the fact that Bill had stepped closer to him and was looking at him in a way that made him want to...well, he didn’t  _ know  _ what that look made him want to do, nor did he want to. He swallowed. “There’s nothing interesting about me,” he settled on saying, his words coming out more rushed than he intended for them to.

Bill raised a brow. “There are a lot of interesting things about you.”

“Like what?” Dipper asked, his heart beating faster, faster, faster still. He tried to avert his eyes, but found that he somehow couldn’t. Bill’s stare was intense.

“Too many things for me to list,” Bill replied flirtatiously, his eyes lidded. He leaned a little closer, their noses nearly brushing.

Dipper subconsciously placed both his hands on Bill’s chest, trying to push him away. “Uh, you’re close,” he said uncertainly.

“Yes.”

“Please back away.”

Bill didn’t budge. “Why did it take you so long to figure out I was the one leaving you the roses, anyway?” he asked. “I  _ was  _ making it painfully obvious.”

“I wanted to ask you about the roses,” Dipper said, avoiding the question. “Yellow roses are supposed to mean friendship. You...you just want to be my friend?” he asked, the words coming out in a jumble.

Bill laughed and pressed their foreheads together. “When I looked up information about yellow roses,” he explained, “the article I read said that they symbolize everlasting love. Also, yellow is my favorite color, so…” He closed his eyes. “I’m glad you didn’t get rid of them.”

“When you...when you ripped up the list made for me in geometry,” Dipper continued, wanting to step back at their closeness but didn’t on the account that it felt quite nice, “did you—” He felt tears well up in his eyes again like earlier. God, he was such a crybaby. “Did you do it to make fun of me?”

“No,” Bill said. “I’m sorry. I went a bit too far.”

“A bit?!” Dipper exclaimed. He clenched his hands into fists, then unclenched them. And, in a bout of confidence (or stupidity), he grabbed Bill’s face in either one of his hands, leaned up, and mashed their lips together. Bill responded immediately, wrapping his arms around Dipper’s waist and kissing him back.

When they pulled apart, Dipper rested his face between Bill’s neck and shoulder and sighed.

“You should...probably go and work on that poster,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like that little Pyronica cameo. ;) ~~Hey, anyone else remember LiS? Yeah, me neither.~~
> 
> Comments and kudos would be appreciated. Thanks for reading!


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